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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016387">catchin' little pieces of time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugto/pseuds/yugto'>yugto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and all that jazz! [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - College/University, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Musicians</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:27:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugto/pseuds/yugto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>One TRUMPET PLAYER stands up for an improvised solo. The BASSIST, the PIANIST, and the DRUMMER provide a steady accompaniment as the TRUMPET PLAYER sails smoothly through the solo — until he slips up, playing a dissonant note that hangs in the air just a beat too long.</p>
  <p>The mistake clearly throws the band off their groove. The CONDUCTOR brings the band to a halt with a decisive wave of his hands. An awkward silence hangs in the room for a beat before the PIANIST speaks up. </p>
  <p><b>PIANIST</b><br/>
Hey, Tsumu, what the <i>fuck</i> was that?</p>
</blockquote>Or: Suna Rintarou picks up a side gig filming the Eastern Japan University jazz band.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and all that jazz! [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>SunaOsa</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i got rhythm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i really just wanted an excuse to write a fic where suna lovingly photographs osamu’s hands. also i miss band, so, uh, here’s this. happy belated birthday suna, ily!</p>
<p>for recommended optimal viewing experience:<br/>- turn on “show creator style”!<br/>- listen to <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1J1nAbIBcOUpAAN1KbbEQ6?si=LEHGs3cUR5yXbqbOrtr8eQ">the jazzverse playlist</a> while you read!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rintarou's experience making shitty YouTube videos as a freshman lands him a new job.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Making memories, making memories</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Taking pictures is making memories</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Catching little pieces of time</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Making them yours, making them mine</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote>— <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duE5SRDA2Fs">"Making Memories"</a>, Disney Studio Chorus</blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, ROOM 35 - DAY</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">The camera pans slowly across Room 35, a medium-sized rehearsal room in the basement of the music building. The various reminders for different choirs, bands, and orchestras pinned to the corkboard at the front of the room clearly indicate that it’s a room shared between multiple programs. Large, soundproof fabric panels cover the walls. Along the left wall, there are a few scattered chairs and empty racks where music stands are usually stored.</p>
<p class="script">Of course, most of the music stands and chairs are out on the floor, being used by the band. In the front, there’s a row of SAXOPHONE PLAYERS; two alto saxes in the middle of the row are sandwiched by a tenor sax on either side, with a baritone sax tacked on the right end of the row. In the row behind them, four TROMBONE PLAYERS fiddle with their slides, getting ready to begin. Behind them, a row of four TRUMPET PLAYERS argue in whispers about who gets to try the solo during today’s practice.</p>
<p class="script">To the left of the rows of instrumentalists, a grand piano takes up much of the remaining floor space, with a PIANIST seated on its bench, looking through a folder of sheet music. To his right, a GUITARIST picks idly at the strings of his guitar. There’s an empty chair to his right, with a binder of sheet music on the seat. Slightly behind him, stands a BASSIST, holding an enormous double bass. Behind all three of them, a DRUMMER sits behind his drumset.</p>
<p class="script">The camera pans over to TAKEDA, a man in his mid-thirties, standing at the conductor’s stand at the front of the room. He raises his baton, and the band snaps to attention.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA<br/>
</strong>A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four—</p>
<p class="script">The jazz band jumps to life. The DRUMMER drives them forward with a rapid-fire beat, the BASSIST plucks out a steady bassline, the PIANIST’s hands dance across the keys. As the TRUMPET SECTION comes in with a solid wall of sound, two terrifyingly synchronized SAXOPHONES rise above the wall, sliding through a complicated run together. </p>
<p class="script">One TRUMPET PLAYER stands up for an improvised solo. The BASSIST, the PIANIST, and the DRUMMER provide a steady accompaniment as the TRUMPET PLAYER sails smoothly through the solo — until he slips up, playing a dissonant note that hangs in the air just a beat too long.</p>
<p class="script">The mistake clearly throws the band off their groove. The CONDUCTOR brings the band to a halt with a decisive wave of his hands. An awkward silence hangs in the room for a beat before the PIANIST speaks up.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>PIANIST<br/>
</strong>Hey, Tsumu, what the <em>fuck</em> was that?</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p>Really, it’s his roommate’s boyfriend’s fault that Rintarou is here — “here” being the basement of the music building, at 3:45 on a Tuesday afternoon. He’s a music major, sure, but he’s no instrumentalist; he’s got a concentration in <em>vocal performance</em>, which in his eyes is really about as far from the jazz band as you should be able to get. </p>
<p>The world doesn’t seem to agree with him, though. First, the dorms fuck him over by denying his application to live with Ginjima, one of his classmates in the vocal performance program, and instead randomly match him with Tsukishima, one of the jazz band’s alto saxophones. Living with Tsukishima, who is 1) best friends with Yamaguchi, the jazz band’s other alto sax, and 2) dating Kuroo, one of the tenor saxes, means that by the end of the first week of the semester, Rintarou’s already met more of the jazz band than he cares to know. (“You’ve met three of them,” says Ginjima reasonably, when Rintarou complains.)</p>
<p>Then, one fateful afternoon, he’s sprawled over his bed, scrolling through his phone, half-listening to a conversation between Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Kuroo on the other side. “Can you believe Lev wants to become <em>a YouTuber</em>?” Without even looking up, Rintarou can hear the eyeroll in Tsukishima’s voice. “Like he has any experience making videos at all.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be so mean to him, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi scolds. </p>
<p>“Oh, I tried that when I was a freshman,” Rintarou says idly, not looking away from his phone. “It takes a while to get off the ground. Good luck to your friend.”</p>
<p>Tsukishima hums in acknowledgment. Out of the corner of his eye, Rintarou catches the exact moment Kuroo perks up in interest (which, in hindsight, is when he should have started running).</p>
<p>“Hey, Suna-kun,” he drawls. “How are your Tuesdays and Thursdays looking this semester?”</p>
<p>“I have photography from 9:30 to 11:20, and then ethnomusicology 1:30 to 3:20,” Rintarou says warily. “Why?”</p>
<p>“<em>Well,</em>” Kuroo starts, and Rintarou immediately regrets asking. In the minutes that follow, he learns (somewhat against his will) that Takeda, the grad student who conducts the jazz band, is apparently terrible with technology. The first week of rehearsals, Takeda had spent fifteen minutes of each rehearsal trying to get the camera to work – and then somehow, he’d managed to erase everything on the camera’s memory card at the end of the week. </p>
<p>“Anyway,” Yamaguchi cuts in, mercifully saving Rintarou from Kuroo’s prolonged story, “Takeda’s husband told him to just apply for funding from the School of Music, so he could hire an intern to do that for him. Takeda mostly needs the film to see what we need to work on, but it’s helpful for our individual practice, too.”</p>
<p>“<em>And</em> if someone edited it really nicely, we could use it to promote our concerts. So as the jazz band’s PR chair,” Kuroo reenters the conversation, plopping himself down on the bed next to Rintarou, “I am obligated to let you know that we’re currently taking applications for a video production intern.”</p>
<p>This would mean Rintarou has to deal with the entire jazz band, not just the saxophones that have taken up semi-permanent residence in his room. Not very compelling, if you ask him – but there <em>are </em>two main arguments strong enough to counter his natural aversion to instrumentalists. One: His photography class has a huge portfolio in lieu of a final exam, and shots of the jazz band would probably be great for that. Two: he’s been eyeing a new microphone for a while, and the idea of<em> not </em>spending the semester eating instant noodles to save up for it is very compelling.</p>
<p>“I’ll think about it,” he says.</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, ROOM 35 - DAY</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">A piercing glare from the BASSIST quells the brewing argument between the TRUMPETER and the PIANIST. In the brief lull, the door opens, revealing the SINGER, a young woman wearing glasses, a khaki coat, and black slacks.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>SINGER</strong><br/>
Sorry I’m late. I got lost on the way down here. I don’t come to the basement very often… </p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA<br/>
</strong>Ah, thank you for joining us, Shimizu! You’re right on time; we’re about to start “That Man”. Everyone, let’s take a two-minute water break while Shimizu gets settled.</p>
<p class="script">A low hum of chatter fills the room once more. SHIMIZU picks up the binder from the empty chair next to the GUITARIST. Slinging her coat over the back of the chair, she takes a seat and flips through the pages. </p>
<p class="script">TAKEDA taps his baton on the music stand, and the chatter abruptly comes to a stop. With a wave of his hands, the band jumps back to life. The PIANIST plays a simple, looping melody that climbs up then rolls back down; as it repeats over and over, the DRUMMER and the BARI SAX layer on top. </p>
<p class="script">The camera pans slowly across the band, zooming in on the PIANIST’s hands. A little flourish from the PIANIST cues SHIMIZU, who begins to croon in a rich, low alto.</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>SHIMIZU</strong><br/>
<em>I’m in a little bit of trouble<br/>
And I’m in real deep… </em>
</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p>As Shimizu’s voice cascades over the jazz band’s accompaniment, Rintarou notes that the pianist is <em>good</em>. He may be a vocal performance major, but he’s got to pay attention to pianists - they hold his life in their hands with every audition, after all. And Shimizu is fantastic as always; she’s in the year above him, and one of the rising stars of their program, a rare alto among the sopranos that the School of Music churns out by the dozen.</p>
<p>So maybe, all things considered, being the jazz band’s video production intern isn’t a terrible gig. Rintarou gets to be around a bunch of talented musicians — even if they <em>are </em>mostly band kids — and gets paid pretty well to stand by the camera and look pretty for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday.  </p>
<p>As the rehearsal wraps up, everyone starts the slow process of cleaning their instruments and packing them away, and Takeda pulls him aside for a quick conversation. “Thank you so much for your help today, Suna-kun. I think Kuroo-kun might have mentioned this to you already, but since the jazz band is relatively new here, it would be nice to put out some promotional videos leading up to our concert at the end of the quarter…”</p>
<p>Well. <em>Standing there and looking pretty can only get me so far in the end</em>, Rintarou thinks, just before a crash and the sounds of an argument interrupt Takeda’s thoughtful rambling. He follows Takeda’s worried gaze to the back of the room, where it seems that the trumpet player who botched his solo earlier is attempting to murder the pianist with his music stand. Ignoring the chaos, the other members of the jazz band walk right past them, putting their music stands back on the rack neatly; it looks like this event isn’t quite out of the ordinary for them.</p>
<p>“So, who are the troublemakers?” he asks, to be polite. Takeda takes off his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose. </p>
<p>“Them?” he says, in the tones of a long-suffering man. <em>They must really be terrible</em>, Rintarou thinks. <em>It’s literally the second week of the semester. </em>“Those are the Miya twins.” </p>
<p>Takeda closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The glasses go back on, the band room’s lights glint off them menacingly, and he snaps out, “<em>Atsumu! Osamu!</em>”</p>
<p>The trumpeter and the pianist both look up, wide-eyed, matching looks of panic on their identical faces. “You’re making a <em>wonderful </em>impression on our new intern, don’t you think?” Takeda continues, his sunny disposition underlaid by an aura of overwhelming menace. <em>Rintarou</em> feels a little intimidated, and he’s not even the one brawling by the music stands. “Why don’t you introduce him to everyone, since you seem to have so much time on your hands? I’ll email you more information about the videos later, Suna-kun.”</p>
<p>Rintarou’s left standing there, blinking in mild confusion; Takeda busies himself with organizing his sheet music, and the twins mumble a quiet “Yessir”. While Trumpet Twin sullenly puts his murder weapon of a music stand away, Pianist Twin strides across the room to Rintarou. “Hey,” he says with a rueful smile. “I’m Miya Osamu, and that idiot over there”—he gestures toward the trumpet player—“is my brother, Atsumu.”</p>
<p>“Suna Rintarou. Nice to meet you,” says Rintarou, holding his hand out automatically.</p>
<p>“Sunarin, huh?” Osamu’s handshake is firm, his hand cool against Rintarou’s. “Nice to meet ya.”</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p>Just as Osamu and Atsumu finish dragging him around the (small) rehearsal room, running through a list of names Rintarou knows he’ll definitely forget by the next practice, an unfamiliar man pushes the door open. In a tone of fond exasperation, he grumbles, “You kids are still here? Go home already.”</p>
<p>In a lighter version of the disappointed tone he used on the Miyas, Takeda says, “<em>Dear</em>.”</p>
<p>The man looks abashed, but the jazz band (and Rintarou) get the message; as a group, they shuffle out the door of Room 35 and up the stairs to the main entrance of the music building. As everyone’s going their separate ways, Tsukishima asks, “Are you heading back to our room?”</p>
<p>Before Rintarou can respond, Atsumu crows, “Oh my god, you’re roommates with <em>Tsukki?</em>” Ignoring Tsukishima’s automatic “<em>Don’t</em> call me that”, he slings his arm around Rintarou’s shoulders cheerfully. “That means we’re neighbors! Come on up and visit sometime, Samu can make ya food.”</p>
<p>It makes sense that they’re neighbors. A lot of music majors choose Raijin Hall for its proximity to the music building, so they can pull all-nighters in the practice rooms and run back home for a quick shower before hitting class the next morning. (Not that Rintarou’s speaking from experience, or anything.) But he can’t entirely say he’s comfortable having a loud guy like Atsumu as his neighbor, much less in his personal space like this.</p>
<p>Osamu seems to notice his discomfort, and helpfully(?) whacks Atsumu with his folder of sheet music. “Oi, get off him, ya idiot. And don’t just volunteer me without askin’ me first!”</p>
<p>With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Atsumu pointedly removes his arm from Rintarou’s shoulders as the residents of Raijin Hall start making their way back home. “It’s what ya deserve after callin’ me out in front of everyone like that, ya ass. Really, though”—here, he turns back to Rintarou—”Samu’s the best cook in the band. Come visit sometime.”</p>
<p>“That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say about your brother in the entire time I’ve known you,” Tsukishima comments dryly. </p>
<p>“Tsukki, do ya have to be so rude?” Atsumu whines. “Can’t a guy hype up his brother every once in a while?”</p>
<p>“He’s right,” says Kuroo, over Tsukishima’s fruitless complaints of <em>I told you not to call me that</em>. “It’s pretty suspicious.”</p>
<p>“Why are ya even <em>here</em>? Ya don’t even <em>live</em> in Raijin Hall, ya freeloader.” The ensuing argument carries them the rest of the way to their dorm and into the elevator; Rintarou tunes out after a little while, only coming back to the conversation when the elevator reaches the fourth floor.</p>
<p>“See ya Wednesday, Sunarin,” says Osamu with a grin. The elevator door slides shut on the Miyas, leaving Suna to wonder, <em>What the fuck have I gotten myself into?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. whiplash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rintarou makes friends, and Osamu makes onigiri.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is titled after “whiplash”, by john wasson, from the movie of the same name. i have never seen the movie, aside from a youtube clip of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZY-Ytrw2co">“caravan”</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TAfvMn8_EQ">scene</a>, but my brother has assured me the entire movie slaps just as hard as that performance of “caravan” did</p>
<p>it is still friday where i am but hopefully next week i will update at a more reasonable time of the day!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, ROOM 35 - DAY</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">Room 35 comes into focus. The winds play a concert B flat together for a moment, then pause to tune their instruments, giving each other quiet feedback. The SAXOPHONE SECTION is the most audible, by virtue of being closest to the camera. TSUKISHIMA and YAMAGUCHI finish tuning their alto saxophones, and pick up their respective flute and clarinet to play another concert B flat together. YAMAGUCHI tilts his head to the side.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>YAMAGUCHI<br/></strong>Your intonation is a little off, Tsukki. I can’t tell if you’re flat or sharp, though… </p>
<p class="script">TSUKISHIMA pushes the mouthpiece of his flute further into the flute’s body, then plays the same note. He frowns slightly, looking unsatisfied.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TSUKISHIMA</strong><br/>How does it sound now?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>KUROO</strong><br/>I think you went in the wrong direction, Tsukki. Didn’t you ever learn the old saying in high school band? <em>When in doubt…</em> </p>
<p class="script">TSUKISHIMA rolls his eyes, but pulls the mouthpiece out a little bit past its initial position. He plays the note once more, then nods, looking satisfied with how it sounds. </p>
<p class="script">KUROO leans forward and waggles his eyebrows, waiting for TSUKISHIMA to finish the line. TSUKISHIMA sighs heavily.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TSUKISHIMA</strong><br/>…<em>Pull it out.</em> Yeah, yeah, I know.</p>
<p class="script">KUROO and YAMAGUCHI snicker, high-fiving across a disgruntled TSUKISHIMA. Behind the camera, RINTAROU lets out a snort. </p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU</strong> (off-camera)<br/><strong>(with fond exasperation) </strong><em>Band kids.</em></p>
<p class="script">TAKEDA walks in front of the camera, holding a thick folder of sheet music. He puts the folder down on the conductor’s stand, beaming at the band.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA<br/></strong>Good afternoon, everyone. It's the third week of the semester! How are you all feeling?</p>
<p class="script">Scattered groans and other tired noises come from the JAZZ BAND. TAKEDA laughs.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA<br/></strong>Well, hopefully today’s practice will lift your spirits a bit. Today we're starting with “Take The A Train”...</p>
<p class="script">🎶</p>
<p>
  <em>Knock knock.</em>
</p>
<p>A pause.</p>
<p>
  <em>Knock knock knock.</em>
</p>
<p>Another pause. </p>
<p>
  <em>Knock, knock-knock, knock, knock.</em>
</p>
<p>As Rintarou slowly wakes up, the other person on the other side of the door mutters, “Alright, that’s it.” One last pause. They say in a louder tone, “Tsumu, I swear to God, if you’re sleepin’ in this practice room again—” </p>
<p>The door opens, flooding the practice room with bright, fluorescent light from the hallway, and Rintarou squints up at the figure in the doorway blearily. Slowly, the situation comes back to him in bits and pieces: he’d stayed up all night writing an analysis paper for his ethnomusicology class, and then they’d gotten a new piece in chorale that afternoon, so he’d come here to poke at the piano as he tried to figure out the tenor section’s harmony. The sheet music for said piece is… definitely stuck to his cheek with dried drool. Oh, this is not a good look for him.</p>
<p>“Oh,” says Osamu eloquently. “You’re not Tsumu.”</p>
<p>Unpeeling himself from his sheet music – hopefully no one notices the wrinkles when he turns it back in at the end of the semester – Rintarou tries to tamp down his embarrassment for long enough to ask, “What time is it?”</p>
<p>His stomach chooses this moment to let out a loud grumble. It echoes in the tiny practice room, hanging in the air between them for a moment.</p>
<p>“Time for dinner, apparently,” Osamu quips. He pauses for a second, then continues, “Hey, uh, I know my dumbass twin was the one who invited ya over for a meal, not me. But it sounds like ya could use some food, so I just wanna let ya know the offer still stands.”</p>
<p>“Honestly, the only food in my dorm room right now is cereal.” Neither he nor Tsukishima are particularly good at remembering to buy food for themselves. “I’d be a fool to say no.”</p>
<p>The apprehension on Osamu’s face disappears in an instant, and he grins. “Alright. Help me find Tsumu and I’ll make ya onigiri. Should be easy – we just have to listen for the sound of someone bein’ obnoxious.”</p>
<p>Eventually, true to Osamu’s words, they hear Atsumu’s voice coming from another practice room down the hall. When they come in, the jazz band’s drummer, Sakusa, is seated at a drum kit, the sheet music for one of their latest pieces on the music stand in front of him. He’s spinning a drumstick around idly as Atsumu blabbers to him about something or other. </p>
<p>“Oi, leave Sakusa-kun alone,” says Osamu, whacking Atsumu on the back of the head with his sheet music folder. “How’s he ever gonna learn this solo if you’re annoyin’ him like this?”</p>
<p>“I was waitin’ for ya,” Atsumu whines.</p>
<p>“Ya could’ve waited in the hallway like a normal person, instead of interruptin’ someone else’s practice time, dumbass. C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Osamu shoots back. In a much politer tone, he adds, “Sorry about him, Sakusa-kun.”</p>
<p>Unfazed by the mood whiplash, Sakusa sends them off with an eyeroll and a wave, and they make their way back to Raijin Hall.</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p>Here’s something Rintarou has noticed, throughout the past few weeks of photographing the jazz band: Miya Osamu has nice hands. He’s been getting close-up shots of everyone in the band, partly for his photography class portfolio and partly for the promotional video Takeda’s got him editing together. The number of photos of Osamu’s hands currently on his laptop, though, is more than a little embarrassing. (A couple of days ago, Tsukishima had passed by while he was editing photos and just given him this dry, judgmental look. Rintarou’s not normally one to feel embarrassed by band kids, given the shit he sees from them on a regular basis, but something about that look <em>did</em> make him feel a little bit of shame.)</p>
<p>It’s just that they’re <em>really </em>nice hands. Pianist’s hands, with long fingers and a handspan that would’ve made Rintarou’s grade-school piano teacher weep. Wrapped around an onigiri, like they currently are, they’d make for a beautiful photograph – if his camera was actually with him, and not charging in his dorm room.</p>
<p>So, instead of photographing Osamu, Rintarou perches on a stool at the counter of the sixth-floor kitchen, listening to him ramble on about the other members of the jazz band as he shapes the onigiri. According to him, the Miyas have known Aran – the jazz band’s baritone saxophone – since middle school, and then all three of them went to high school together with Kita, the jazz band’s bassist. Rintarou’s half-paying attention, but mostly, he’s watching how Osamu’s fingers deftly wrap the nori around the rice, movements practiced like he’s done it a million times before. He nods along, injecting little <em>mhm</em>s when he feels like there’s a space, until the conversation hits a lull. </p>
<p>Before the silence can get awkward, Osamu reaches into his bag for something; his eyes widen in surprise when his hand comes out empty. “Oh shit, I forgot the umeboshi. Be right back, Sunarin.”</p>
<p>In Osamu’s absence, Rintarou pulls out his phone, ready to scroll through Twitter for a few minutes. Just as he unlocks his phone, a voice singsongs, “Should’ve taken a picture, Sunarin. It’d last longer, y'know.”</p>
<p>Rintarou whips around to see Atsumu. He’s resting his hand on his chin, an obnoxious smirk on his face, and drinking coffee out of a mug that says, in all caps, <em>TRUMPET PLAYERS KICK BRASS</em>. It’s seven-thirty in the evening. Rintarou <em>would</em> voice some concern for Atsumu’s sleep schedule, but it would just be the pot calling the kettle black at this point.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m still here,” Atsumu continues, dramatically slumping over the counter. “Not like ya even noticed me, what with you and Samu makin’ eyes at each other the entire time. <em>Ugh. </em>Can’t believe I’m third-wheeling my own brother.”</p>
<p>Rintarou fumbles with his phone, desperately makes a grab for it, and only succeeds in knocking it to the floor. “Huh.” His voice is impressively flat, given how much his heart rate has spiked in the last three seconds.</p>
<p>“Ya heard me,” Atsumu grumbles, as Rintarou picks his phone up, inspecting its screen for cracks. “I mean, I expected this outta Samu, but <em>ugh</em>.”</p>
<p>Rintarou blinks. Once, twice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says honestly. “You expected this?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah. Me and Samu saw your solo at the showcase last spring.” Atsumu leans in, dropping his voice to a confidential tone. “I think it was a formative experience for him, if ya catch my drift.”</p>
<p>“<em>Formative experience</em>, wow,” Rintarou drawls, pasting on an impassive face to cover up his internal panic. “Big words there. Sounds like you’re thinking pretty hard. Don’t hurt yourself.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you, Sunarin,” Atsumu retorts, injured, just as Osamu walks in.</p>
<p>“I leave ya alone for <em>five minutes </em>and ya pick a fight with Sunarin?” he scolds, hitting Atsumu on the head with the container of umeboshi. “I can’t take ya <em>anywhere</em>.”</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>LAST MARCH</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, KAWABUCHI AUDITORIUM - NIGHT</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">The camera turns on to show the KAWABUCHI AUDITORIUM. It's no enormous concert hall, but rather a small and intimate auditorium, with seating for about a hundred people. The camera shakes a little bit, presumably as the CAMERAWOMAN sets it up. It stabilizes as the ANNOUNCER, an elderly man with graying hair and a piercing gaze, steps up to the microphone. </p>
<p class="script"><strong>ANNOUNCER<br/></strong>Good evening, and welcome to the EJU School of Music End-of-Year Showcase. Our end-of-year recitals have come and gone — but before we go our separate ways for spring break, we wanted to give our students the chance to branch out a little and experiment. In the spirit of collaboration, we’ve encouraged our instrumentalists and vocalists to team up for the pieces you’re about to see.</p>
<p class="script">Our openers tonight are Suna Rintarou and Ginjima Hitoshi, both second-years with a concentration in vocal performance. They are accompanied by Akagi Michinari, a second-year with a concentration in piano. Please give them a warm welcome to the stage!</p>
<p class="script">The subsequent clapping and cheering from the AUDIENCE is lukewarm, to put it nicely. The CAMERAWOMAN’s enthusiasm more than makes up for the AUDIENCE’s lack thereof.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>CAMERAWOMAN </strong>(off-camera)<br/>Nii-san!! Do your best!!!</p>
<p class="script">Scattered giggles come from the AUDIENCE. RINTAROU walks onstage, flashing a subtle smile and a thumbs-up to the camera. He is followed by GINJIMA and AKAGI. All three look a little nervous, but seem to settle as soon as the opening chords leave AKAGI's fingers. RINTAROU steps up to the main microphone, crooning.</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>RINTAROU</strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Not break the ice,<br/>You melt the ice</em>
</p>
<p class="script">It’s immediately clear that RINTAROU is the star of this particular performance. GINJIMA provides backing vocals, and AKAGI gamely backs them up, but RINTAROU’s smooth, sultry tenor is the thread that really holds the performance together. They sail through the verses, AKAGI gets a nice piano solo, and then they all come back together for the last verse. RINTAROU closes the song out with a couple of solo lines.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU<br/></strong> <em>You realize you can’t get nearer<br/>And there’s nowhere you don’t meet…</em></p>
<p class="script">The music trails to an end, as AKAGI settles on a final chord. GINJIMA returns to looking slightly nervous, fidgeting a little with the microphone stand. RINTAROU stares straight into the audience, a subtle smirk on his face. Silence hangs in the auditorium for a moment.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>VOICE 1 </strong>(off-camera)<br/><strong>(in a stage whisper) </strong>Oi, Samu, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>VOICE 2 </strong>(off-camera)<br/><strong>(in a stage whisper) </strong>Shut <em>up</em>, Tsumu.</p>
<p class="script">The CAMERAWOMAN giggles quietly. Applause, much louder and more spirited than the applause this time around, fills the auditorium.</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p>After that first round of onigiri with the Miyas, Rintarou finds himself hanging out with them more and more often. Atsumu doesn’t say anything more after that first day in the kitchen, but he does waggle his eyebrows at Rintarou obnoxiously when he thinks Osamu’s not looking. (Which is a <em>lot</em> of the time.)</p>
<p>Not that Rintarou does anything with the information Atsumu’s given him. His lack of action is partly because 1) he’s hopeless when it comes to romantic relationships in general, but mostly because 2) he enjoys having Osamu as a friend, and doesn’t want to ruin this new friendship he’s found.</p>
<p>He makes friends with the rest of the jazz band, too. Maybe begrudgingly at first – the enmity between instrumentalists and vocalists dies hard, after all. But by virtue of living with Tsukishima, he’s <em>got </em>to make friends with him, and they end up bonding unexpectedly. Somewhere around the sixth week of the semester, Tsukishima walks in on Rintarou jabbing his biweekly shot into his thigh. They stare at each other awkwardly for a moment before Tsukishima nods. “Thanks for the reminder. I need to go in for a refill soon.”</p>
<p>(This incident gives Rintarou a sneaking suspicion about why the dorms matched him with Tsukishima, instead of Ginjima like he’d requested. But Tsukishima’s a good roommate, and they have similar personalities and senses of humor. And indirectly, through Tsukishima, Rintarou found this job, and the jazz band. And Osamu. Really, it could’ve been worse.)</p>
<p>Befriending Tsukishima basically means he’s friends with Kuroo and Yamaguchi by extension, and they fold him into the sax section easily during the lulls before and after practices. Aran, the bari sax player, tells him ridiculous stories about Osamu and Atsumu’s middle school days, and Ennoshita, the other tenor saxophone, is kind enough to rescue him when the Miyas subsequently start a scuffle with Aran.</p>
<p>When he’s not talking to the sax section before practice, he’s hanging out with the rhythm section. There’s Osamu on piano and Sakusa on drums, of course, but Kita, the bassist, and Komori, the guitarist, round out the section. They’re a chaotic set, especially because Atsumu has a habit of stopping by before and after practice. On Rintarou’s phone, there’s a collection of photos of Kita and Sakusa’s unimpressed faces just after someone (usually one of the twins) does something stupid, which grows bigger just about every day.</p>
<p>Eventually, after seeing Rintarou’s collection, Komori adds him to the jazz band group chat. “These pictures deserve to be seen by everyone, Suna-kun!”</p>
<p>“You just want to save these pictures so you can use them as reaction images,” Sakusa grumbles. It sounds like this is something he’s dealt with before. Rintarou would normally sympathize – his younger sister has taken <em>far more</em> than her fair share of candid, unflattering pictures of him – but these photos of Sakusa are fucking hilarious.</p>
<p>“Well, y’know, Sunarin’s been with us almost the whole semester. He might as well be in the group chat,” Osamu chips in. He turns to Rintarou. “Even if you’re not playin’ an instrument, you’re basically one of us at this point.”</p>
<p>Something in Rintarou’s stomach does a pleasant flip at this statement. Then he stops to think.<em> Shit. Am I one of the band kids now?</em></p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, ROOM 35 - DAY</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">RINTAROU comes into focus, fiddling with the camera. This particular angle only captures the side of the room with the rhythm section – the piano, guitar, bass, and drums. As RINTAROU adjusts the camera’s focus, he absent-mindedly sings a few lines of SHIMIZU’s solo.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU<br/></strong> <em>‘Cause like the sweetest serenade<br/>Bet he knows he’s got it made with me…</em></p>
<p class="script">Behind RINTAROU, SAKUSA is tuning KOMORI’s guitar. There’s no tuner in sight; he's tuning completely by ear – and it seems he's got perfect pitch. He flexes his fingers, then plays through a simple set of scales, running up and back down. RINTAROU finishes fiddling with the camera and tilts his head to the side, sizing up the scene.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU<br/></strong>Komori-kun, you're just gonna let someone else play your guitar like that? For free?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>KOMORI<br/></strong>It's fine, we're cousins. He gets a family discount. Did you know we actually took guitar lessons together as kids? And now we’re both doing a concentration in guitar. They grow up so fast.</p>
<p class="script">KOMORI wipes a fake tear from his eyes, then leans around RINTAROU, cupping his hands around his mouth. RINTAROU whips out his phone, perhaps sensing that something worth photographing is about to happen.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>KOMORI<br/></strong>Hey, Kiyoomi, do “Smoke on the Water”!</p>
<p class="script">SAKUSA, looking unimpressed, plays the opening bars of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwjX-m4LkYk">something that is definitely not “Smoke on the Water”</a>, probably as an unspoken <em>fuck you</em> to KOMORI. Lightning-fast, RINTAROU snaps a photo. KOMORI just grins in response. </p>
<p class="script"><strong>KOMORI<br/>(fondly)</strong> Show-off. We get it, that’s your recital piece.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>OSAMU</strong><br/>Hey, Sunarin, can I pick your brain for a sec? </p>
<p class="script">OSAMU scoots over, patting the piano bench next to him. RINTAROU walks over to the piano bench, looking slightly confused, and takes a seat next to OSAMU.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU</strong><br/>What's up?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>OSAMU</strong><br/>You're the only vocalist in the room right now, so I wanted to ask ya what ya think about this part. Does the timing on this lick feel okay?</p>
<p class="script">OSAMU runs through a couple of measures of the opening melody. He and RINTAROU are seated side by side on the piano bench. It’s not a very big bench, and OSAMU’s a big guy. They’re basically pressed together from knee to shoulder.</p>
<p class="script">OSAMU snakes his arm around RINTAROU's shoulders to play the aforementioned lick, near the very top of the piano keyboard. He finishes the lick, but does not withdraw his arm. RINTAROU looks a little flustered, but recovers admirably.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU<br/></strong>I– you know, I think that works. This is the cue for <em>Now it's like I'm on a mission</em>, right?</p>
<p class="script">KOMORI and SAKUSA look into the camera, matching incredulous looks on their faces.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>SAKUSA<br/>(deadpan) </strong>Suna-kun, I know you’re going to look at this footage later. Please open your eyes. I can’t take much more of this.</p>
<p class="script">KOMORI clasps his hands together, beaming.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>KOMORI<br/></strong>Ah, young love.</p>
<p class="script">ATSUMU and KITA walk into frame. ATSUMU looks at OSAMU and RINTAROU, then turns to KITA, SAKUSA, and KOMORI with a disgusted face.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>ATSUMU</strong><br/>Is that even <em>allowed</em>?</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p>The weeks go by in a blur of rehearsals and onigiri, early-morning shots and late nights in the practice rooms. Rintarou starts to sift through the hours and hours of footage sitting on his laptop, cutting together the promotional videos for the jazz band’s end-of-semester concert. Consistently, he finishes his video drafts somewhere around two or three in the morning, and schedules his emails to Takeda to send at a less ungodly hour.</p>
<p>But his hard work pays off: the first promotional video for the jazz band’s concert comes out a few weeks before the end of the semester. The next week, a nasty flu starts ripping through the campus. Its spread is compounded by the fact that the inevitable pre-finals crunch has begun, and between preparing for their upcoming papers, exams, and recitals, no one’s getting any rest. Immune systems are at an all-time low, and it shows. </p>
<p>In an attempt to stave off the flu, assorted members of the jazz band start drinking Emergen-C once a day, despite Kuroo’s impassioned rants that <em>it doesn’t actually work, you guys, I should know. I’m a fucking biology major</em>. Although Emergen-C’s status as a viable blocker of illnesses remains a hotly debated topic within the group chat, everyone manages to avoid getting sick. Finally, the week of the concert – the last week of the semester – arrives.</p>
<p>🎶</p>
<p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, ROOM 35 - DAY</strong>
</p>
<p class="script">RINTAROU comes into focus, fiddling with the camera once again. The camera jostles slightly as he adjusts the angle. Behind him, the JAZZ BAND finishes tuning their instruments. Once RINTAROU’s satisfied, he disappears behind the camera; he reappears a moment later, laptop in hand, and retreats to the back of the room, perching cross-legged on an unused chair.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>KUROO</strong><br/>How’s that last promotional video coming along, Suna-kun?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU<br/></strong>It’s almost done. I just want to add a clip from today’s rehearsal at the end.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>OSAMU</strong><br/>Ya had hours and hours of footage to go through last night. Did ya even sleep?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU</strong><br/>Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to—</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TSUKISHIMA</strong><br/>He didn’t.</p>
<p class="script">RINTAROU looks betrayed. Assorted snickers and laughter come from the JAZZ BAND. In the midst of their mirth, TAKEDA bursts into the room, looking distraught. KITA is the first to notice.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>KITA</strong><br/>Sensei, is everything all right?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA</strong><br/>Shimizu caught the flu that’s been going around.</p>
<p class="script">The JAZZ BAND’s laughter immediately comes screeching to a halt.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA</strong> (cont.)<br/>She’s completely lost her voice. The odds that she’ll be able to sing on Friday are astronomically unlikely.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>ARAN</strong><br/>Does that mean we’re cutting “That Man” from the setlist?</p>
<p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA</strong><br/>You’ve all worked so hard on it that I really don't want to cut it. But the concert is in three days, and I’m not sure how the piece would sound if we swapped one of the winds in for Shimizu’s voice… </p>
<p class="script">Everyone falls quiet for a moment, until OSAMU breaks the silence.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>OSAMU<br/></strong>Uh, Sensei? Not to put him on the spot, but we do have one other singer who’s been to every rehearsal.</p>
<p class="script">A pause. Then, as one, the jazz band turns to look at RINTAROU.</p>
<p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU<br/></strong>Fuck.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter, in summary:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>RINTAROU: on god i will not jeopardize this friendship<br/>OSAMU: blasting “jenny” by studio killers every night<br/>ATSUMU: i can’t take it anymore i’m seriously at my limit</p>
</blockquote>the finale comes next week! i hope you look forward to it!
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. sing, sing, sing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A concert, and a confession.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>OCTOBER 2019</b>
</p><blockquote>
  <p>ME: u can’t sing along to caravan ://<br/>BROTHER: maybe U can’t</p>
</blockquote><b>FEBRUARY 2021</b><blockquote>
  <p>ME: [vocalizing the caravan drum solo and air-drumming along instead of writing this]</p>
</blockquote>-<br/>welcome to the thrilling finale of jazzfic! thank you for your patience - the last couple of weeks were INCREDIBLY busy. i love grad school. 8) as an apology for making you wait, though, i have an extra-long final chapter for you!<p>i know i’ve recommended this to you before but <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1J1nAbIBcOUpAAN1KbbEQ6?si=LEHGs3cUR5yXbqbOrtr8eQ">the jazzfic soundtrack</a> is really recommended listening here – it has the whole concert setlist, plus suna’s song from chapter 2 and the song that this fic’s title comes from as a bonus! i hope you enjoy, and i’ll see you in the endnotes :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The final note of the last song hangs in the air, then fades into silence. The audience breaks into applause – not quite deafening, but high-spirited enough that it’s clear they enjoyed the show. Rintarou stands there, shoulder to shoulder with his fellow performers, a grin catching at the edge of his mouth. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a performance well done.</p><p>Their director steps up to the microphone, a smile on her face. “Once again, on behalf of the EJU Chorale, thank you so much for spending your evening with us. Travel safely, and have a good night.”</p><p><em>One concert down, one more to go</em>, Rintarou thinks, as he follows the rest of the Chorale tenors offstage. In the post-performance shuffle, as the singers around him celebrate their last concert of the semester, Rintarou gathers his things and makes his way out to the lobby. He’s making his way toward the doors when a voice calls, “Sunarin!”</p><p>He looks up, surprised, to see Osamu waving enthusiastically. Rintarou weaves through the crowd to where Osamu’s standing, just inside the lobby doors. Osamu’s grin is almost blinding; he slings his arm around Rintarou’s shoulders with a “Great work up there, Sunarin.” </p><p>“You watched the concert?” Rintarou asks, making no attempt to escape from under the weight of Osamu’s arm.</p><p>“Of course! Gotta support our featured singer,” Osamu grins, and <em>ah,</em> there’s the familiar churning feeling in Rintarou’s stomach. Whether it’s nerves at the thought of tomorrow’s concert or just proximity to Osamu is anyone’s guess at this point, honestly. It’s probably both. </p><p>“I mean, I wasn’t featured in any of the songs tonight,” Rintarou points out. The crowds shuffle by them, slowly but surely making their way out into the night. “I’m just one of many tenors in Chorale. I’m not even the best tenor two we have.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re still an important part of the performance, aren’tcha?” It’s a fair statement, but it still takes Rintarou by surprise. Before he can respond, their phones both buzz. Osamu fishes his phone out of his pocket first, scanning over it briefly. “Oh, Tsumu says they’re almost done setting up for movie night. C’mon, let’s start heading back.”</p><p>The walk from Mukae Hall, EJU’s concert hall, back to Raijin Hall is only about fifteen minutes. With Osamu by his side, chattering about his favorite parts of the concert, it’s a quick trip. Once they’re back at the dorms, Rintarou briefly parts ways with him to swap out his performance attire for a tank top and shorts, then takes the stairs up to the sixth-floor lounge, where the jazz band has taken over the entire room.</p><p>Tonight they’re watching <em>Whiplash</em>, partly for the sake of team bonding, but mostly because Atsumu thinks it’s a travesty that Sakusa has never seen it. When Sakusa mentioned this fact last week, Atsumu had said something to the effect of <em>You’re literally doin’ the Caravan solo from Whiplash, and you’ve never even seen it? That’s a fuckin’ disgrace, Omi-kun, we gotta fix this</em>. Lounge takeovers like this one technically aren’t allowed, especially when most of the people here tonight don’t even live in Raijin Hall. But apparently, Osamu and Atsumu are high school friends with Oomimi, the RA for their floor, and have wheedled him into looking the other way for just one evening. (“Oomimi should get a raise just for having to deal with the two of ya on his floor,” Aran says matter-of-factly.) The last of the preparations are just finishing up as Rintarou enters the lounge. Kita’s standing in the lounge’s tiny kitchenette, shaking furikake out over a bowl of microwave popcorn. Aran’s next to him, putting another bag of popcorn into the microwave. </p><p>A few feet away from the kitchenette, there are three large couches arranged in a U shape, with a large TV mounted on the opposing wall. Kuroo’s laptop is hooked up to the TV, and he’s pulling up <em>Whiplash</em> as everyone else gets settled on the couches. Osamu’s seated cross-legged on one end of the couch directly across from the TV, another bowl of popcorn balanced on his legs. Sakusa’s taking up as little space as possible at the other end of the couch, and Atsumu’s sprawled out over the rest of the couch like he owns it. </p><p>Atsumu’s ridiculous manspreading, combined with the rest of the jazz band scattered across the couches and a few extra chairs, means that the only space left is on the floor. Rintarou’s about to take a seat on the floor in front of the couches when Atsumu pointedly moves his legs, leaving an open spot next to Osamu. </p><p>It’s not subtle at all. Rintarou takes the spot anyway. </p><p>For his part, Osamu shifts the popcorn bowl so it’s half in Rintarou’s lap, slinging his arm easily around Rintarou’s shoulders. Over the last couple of months, Rintarou has learned that Osamu’s a cuddler – much to his simultaneous pleasure and dismay. Like he has pretty much every time for the last couple of months, Rintarou sits very still and hopes Osamu can’t hear his heart jackhammering in his chest.</p><p>Kuroo starts the movie and flops down on another couch, throwing his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. Tsukishima’s scrolling through his phone while he waits for the movie to start, the tips of his ears tinged a telltale shade of red – embarrassed, but trying not to show it. The pose they’re in eerily mirrors Rintarou and Osamu at the moment. Rintarou tries not to think about that too hard, at the risk of his brain spontaneously combusting.</p><p>“—kun. <em>Oi. </em>Suna-kun, are you listening?”</p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>“I was saying,” Kuroo rolls his eyes, “great work on those promo videos, Suna-kun. Pretty sure this is the most engagement the jazz band’s marketing materials have ever gotten.”</p><p>“The jazz band’s only been around for a year,” Tsukishima points out. “The bar is extremely low.”</p><p>“Hush, you,” Kuroo says in a tone of fond exasperation, then turns back to Rintarou. “I have the last promo video queued up to post tomorrow. Takeda-sensei says it’s great! He hopes you’ll come back next semester.”</p><p>In the clamor of rehearsals, assembling his final photography portfolio, editing the concert promotional videos, and everything else that comes with the end of another semester at EJU, the fact that Rintarou’s video production internship is technically only for the semester has completely slipped his mind. Tomorrow could be his last day with the jazz band, if he wants to leave. </p><p>The hours he spends on this internship every week could probably be filled with better things. He could actually be doing his homework, for one, or maybe finding a job that better fits what he wants to do in the future. But the pay is good, Takeda’s a kind supervisor, and over the semester, the EJU Jazz Band has grown on Rintarou. <em>Especially </em>the handsome pianist who currently has his arm wrapped around Rintarou’s shoulders.</p><p>“Why not? There are worse ways to spend my Tuesday and Thursday afternoons,” he says. It’s not the full truth, but he hopes it’s enough.</p><p>Next to him, Osamu perceptibly relaxes. Rintarou tries not to read too much into it. “Well,” he says, “we’ll be glad to have ya back with us next semester, Sunarin.”</p><p>“Guys, shut <em>up</em>, I’m trying to watch the movie,” Atsumu complains.</p><p>🎶</p><p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL OF MUSIC, ROOM 35 - DAY</strong>
</p><p class="script">FADE IN on TAKEDA, standing at the conductor’s stand.  The camera shakes a little bit as TAKEDA comes into focus.</p><p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA</strong><br/>
Our final concert is this week! How are we feeling?</p><p class="script">Assorted cheers and whoops from the jazz band.</p><p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA</strong><br/>
Glad to hear it! Let’s go ahead and get started. A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four– </p><p class="script">The JAZZ BAND starts to play “Sing, Sing, Sing”. The music continues, as a MONTAGE of the jazz band's concert preparations begins.</p><p class="script">
  <strong>BEGIN MONTAGE.</strong>
</p><p class="script">A close-up of the four TRUMPET PLAYERS squabbling over something or other. It’s a heated argument that escalates rapidly over a few seconds, until ATSUMU starts a game of rock-paper-scissors to resolve the argument. (He loses.)</p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">ATSUMU stands tall during one of the final rehearsals, soaring through a trumpet solo.</p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">A shot of the SAXOPHONE SECTION before practice. TSUKISHIMA rolls his eyes, saying something inaudible. KUROO and YAMAGUCHI laugh, leaning across a disgruntled TSUKISHIMA to high-five each other.</p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">Mid-song, as the band continues around them, YAMAGUCHI and TSUKISHIMA smoothly switch out their alto saxes for a clarinet and flute, respectively. To TSUKISHIMA’s right, KUROO is absolutely wailing on a tenor sax solo.</p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">SAKUSA plays KOMORI’s guitar as they wait for TAKEDA to arrive. KOMORI is talking to RINTAROU, then cups his hands around his mouth, yelling something at SAKUSA. SAKUSA looks unimpressed.</p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">A close-up of SAKUSA, face screwed up in concentration, making his way through a drum solo. His drumsticks move at almost inhuman speed; his hyperflexible wrists clearly put him at an advantage for this solo. </p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">OSAMU and RINTAROU seated side by side on the piano bench, heads bent closely together. OSAMU slings his arm around RINTAROU’s shoulders to play a lick in an upper octave. Both of them seem oddly comfortable with the gesture; it seems this has happened before. ATSUMU approaches, holding a folder of sheet music. He lifts it up, then brings it down as if to smack OSAMU on the back of the head. </p><p class="script">SMASH CUT TO:</p><p class="script">OSAMU’s right hand slams down, dancing over the piano keys. He’s playing a piano solo. As his right hand plays a complicated line, his left hand is stretched out, spanning an entire octave as he plays a walking bassline.</p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">The JAZZ BAND in a stunning display of pre-practice chaos. Two TROMBONE PLAYERS are demonstrating some terrifying choreography they learned in marching band, while another surreptitiously empties his SPIT VALVE onto the floor. The SAXOPHONE SECTION all have their REEDS sticking out of their mouths, softening them up for the rehearsal to come. The TRUMPET SECTION is spread out throughout the band, messing with members of the other sections – notably, ATSUMU is standing in the RHYTHM SECTION, being scolded by KITA as OSAMU laughs. </p><p class="script">CUT TO:</p><p class="script">The JAZZ BAND in a stunning display of concentration, playing through the final bars of “Sing, Sing, Sing”. They crescendo through each measure, each breath and each note perfectly in sync, until TAKEDA brings the band to a halt with a decisive wave of his hands. </p><p class="script">FREEZE FRAME. The final shot of the jazz band fades to black.</p><p class="script"><strong>END MONTAGE.</strong> </p><p class="script">Text appears on screen: <em>The Eastern Japan University Jazz Band Presents Sounds of Summer. Tonight, 7:00 PM, Mukae Hall. Tickets ¥1000.</em></p><p>🎶</p><p>With an hour to call time, Tsukishima asks, “How are you feeling?” He’s standing in front of Rintarou’s full-body mirror, giving himself a once-over. The jazz band’s performance attire is mostly understated: a black vest over a black button-up shirt and slacks, paired with black shoes. There’s one thing that makes the jazz band stand out wherever they go, and right now, Tsukishima’s looking at it like he’d rather burn it than wear it: a necktie in EJU’s signature bright yellow. </p><p>“Nervous,” Rintarou says honestly. “Hey, can you scoot over?” As Tsukishima complies, Rintarou gives himself a critical once-over in the mirror. Not being a member of the jazz band, he’s opted instead for a less formal version of his chorale performance outfit. The white button-up, black bowtie, and black slacks come from his performance attire, but he’s swapped out his tuxedo jacket for a black vest, and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. </p><p>Tsukishima isn’t one to sugarcoat or provide false reassurance, something Rintarou has come to appreciate over the months of living with him. Now, he shrugs. “You practiced hard in the time you had. You put in the work. Whatever happens next is just part of the performance.”</p><p>Rintarou takes a seat at his desk and uncaps his eyeliner. Applying his eyeliner with a practiced hand, he casts around for a moment, trying to come up with the words he wants to say. “Yeah, but—I don’t know. I don’t want to let everyone down, you know?”</p><p>The corners of Tsukishima’s mouth quirks with a small smirk. “Not to be <em>that</em> band kid, but even if you’re the featured singer, the performance isn’t just you. All of us are behind you, for whatever that’s worth.”</p><p>In tandem, both of their phones buzz. Occupied as he is applying his eyeliner, Rintarou, for once, ignores his phone. Tsukishima reaches for his phone, briefly scanning the screen before he reports: “Tetsurou will be here in five. He says we should start walking to Mukae soon if you want to set up your camera before call time.” </p><p>“You’re right.” Rintarou takes one more critical look at his eyeliner, then caps it and gets up from his chair. Unplugging his camera from its charger, he tucks it back into its bag. On the other side of the room, Tsukishima puts his flute case and his folder of sheet music into his messenger bag, then picks up his alto sax. “Let’s get a move on.”</p><p>🎶</p><p>In the mid-afternoon heat of a July Friday, the fifteen-minute walk from Raijin Hall to Mukae Hall feels much longer than it has any right to be. The pit of dread slowly building in Rintarou’s stomach probably isn’t helping matters much.</p><p>Really, the nervousness he feels when he steps into Mukae Hall is something he should have gotten over long ago. He’s performed here at least twice a year for every year he’s been at EJU. He was literally <em>just</em> here last night. But something about Mukae Hall’s auditorium is simultaneously familiar and intimidating: every time he enters, he’s once again floored by the size of the place. He was already nervous singing at the Kawabuchi Auditorium last spring, which has capacity for about a hundred people, but Mukae is a concert hall with room for <em>twelve hundred people</em>. Rintarou’s under no impression that the jazz band will sell out every seat, but there’s no doubt that this audience will be much bigger than the audience for the end-of-year showcase.</p><p>(And he’s only ever performed on the Mukae stage as part of chorale. He’s never had a solo. He’s a solid tenor, but not one that gets <em>featured</em> in things.)</p><p>With all these thoughts running through his head, he unpacks his camera from its bag, his hands shaking slightly. Before he can <em>really</em> start psyching himself out, Ginjima and Akagi show up. Since he’ll be occupied during today’s concert, he’s recruited them to keep an eye on his camera while he’s performing. The two of them provide a welcome distraction: almost immediately, they start an argument over which row to put the camera in for the most optimal view of the stage. They’ve just settled on row U when Rintarou’s phone buzzes with a text from his sister: <em>Oniisan!! Good luck!!! I wish I could make it up there to watch but I bet you’re gonna be frickin awesome!!!!</em> </p><p>“Are ya ready for today?” asks Ginjima, reading over Rintarou’s shoulder as he texts back a quick <em>thanks sis. good luck on finals.</em></p><p>“Not really,” says Rintarou.</p><p>“Eh, ya said the same thing before Showcase. You’re gonna be fine.” Akagi slaps him on the back. “We’ve got things taken care of over here. Go warm up.<em> Mi mi mi mi mi mi miiiiii</em>,” he warbles, tripping up and down a major fifth. “That’s what vocalists do, right?”</p><p>As Rintarou grumbles a halfhearted “Shut up”, Ginjima flops into the seat next to the camera. Helpfully, he adds, “Go! Break a leg! Get out of here!” So Rintarou goes.</p><p>🎶</p><p>The sound of several people playing a concert B flat floats through the air as Rintarou pushes open the door to the green room. Almost everyone is tuning, providing feedback to each other—a quiet <em>Pull out your mouthpiece </em>here, a mumbled <em>Adjust your tuning slide</em> there. Osamu stands by the wall with Sakusa, both of them idly rotating their wrists in a simple stretch. Unsure where to go, Rintarou gravitates over to the two of them, trying to ignore how his stomach is doing slow flips. </p><p>As he approaches, he notices that Osamu’s sleeves are rolled up to show off his forearms. If Rintarou were a stronger man, he would put his freakout on pause to appreciate Osamu’s arms more. As it is, his stomach just starts churning faster.</p><p>“Hey,” says Osamu, uncharacteristically solemn. “How are ya feelin’?”</p><p>Rintarou’s put on a good face so far, but in the face of Osamu’s honest concern, the mask crumbles away. “Honestly, I think I’m about to throw up.”</p><p>At these words, Sakusa’s face twists briefly into a grimace. He pushes off the wall and heads over to Komori, patting Rintarou on the shoulder bracingly as he goes. </p><p>“I saw ya at the showcase last spring,” Osamu offers, in the awkward silence left in Sakusa’s wake. “You were great.”</p><p>“I was literally terrified the whole time,” Rintarou confesses. This is the first time they’ve talked about Showcase, although Atsumu <em>did </em>mention it during that first onigiri night, weeks and weeks ago. <em>A real formative experience for him, if ya catch my drift</em>, Atsumu had said. Standing here in this quiet corner of the green room, Rintarou wonders if he should breach the topic.</p><p>But he’s a firm believer in not airing things out before concerts, if there’s a risk of throwing someone else’s performance off. He’s a professional. So instead, he tells Osamu the same thing he told Tsukishima. “I just—I don’t want to let you guys down, you know? You’re taking a risk putting me up there. Shimizu was practicing with you guys all semester, and I’ve only been practicing for a week. I don’t want to fuck it up for you.”</p><p>“Hey,” Osamu says, and suddenly he’s <em>really </em>close, laying a hand on Rintarou’s shoulder. Rintarou’s sure it’s meant to be comforting, but having Osamu in such close proximity is just sending his stomach into an entire gymnastic routine. “I believe in ya. Ya practiced hard this week. I saw ya sing last spring, and last night, too. You’re a great performer, and no matter what happens up there, I think you’re gonna be fine.”</p><p>Rintarou barely has time to stutter out a quiet, surprised “Thank you” before Atsumu breaks in. “Oi, Samu.” To his credit, he does look a little regretful about interrupting, although he powers forward unapologetically. “Takeda wants us onstage in two. We gotta get goin’.”</p><p>Osamu nods, then turns back to Rintarou. “Remember what I said, okay? And break a leg out there, Sunarin.”</p><p>Despite his nerves, Rintarou can’t help but smile. “You too.”</p><p>🎶</p><p>The thing about the setlist, the way Takeda’s set it up, is that “That Man” is second to last. Rintarou thinks this was probably in an attempt to make the choir kids attending for Shimizu stick around after intermission. This was all well and good when Shimizu was the one performing; Rintarou doesn’t even know if she <em>gets</em> nervous anymore. On the other hand, being the second-to-last song means that Rintarou gets to stand around, his stomach churning, for six songs (and an intermission) before he finally gets to go onstage. </p><p>As if summoned by the very thought of her, Shimizu texts him as he’s standing alone in the green room. <em>Thank you for stepping in for me, Suna-kun. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but break a leg! I look forward to hearing how it went!</em></p><p>His thumbs hover over the keyboard, eventually tapping out a simple <em>thank you</em>. Before he can send the text, his phone buzzes again. <em>Oh, and if you go backstage, you can watch the show from the monitor. Just be quiet back there!</em></p><p><em>thank you</em>, he sends, and leaves the green room. His feet carry him down the hallway to the backstage door, where one of the techs lets him in; another waves him over to the monitor, offering him a stool. The monitor displays a view of the stage from a camera located somewhere in front of the third-story balcony. It’s nestled in a little alcove just behind the curtains, close enough to the stage itself that he can hear the jazz band shuffling as they take their seats and pull out their sheet music. Rintarou perches on the stool, and the first half of the concert begins.</p><p>Takeda makes his way out onto the stage. In one smooth, synchronized move, the entire band stands up, and the audience bursts into applause. Although the camera quality isn’t the greatest and the monitor renders everyone’s faces as blobs of nearly unrecognizable pixels, Rintarou can see the smile on Takeda’s face as he turns to face the audience, taking the microphone at the center of the stage.</p><p>“Good evening, everyone! We are the Eastern Japan University Jazz Band. It’s only our second year as an ensemble, so we’re incredibly excited to have all of you with us tonight. We hope you enjoy the show!”</p><p>Applause follows this, louder than before. It sounds like there are a <em>lot</em> of people out there. The churning in Rintarou’s stomach starts up again.</p><p>Takeda whips back around to face the performers, calling out, “A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four.” Immediately, Sakusa bursts into action, playing the opening drum fills to “Sing, Sing, Sing”. Rintarou’s intimately familiar with this one, having spent hours cutting footage of the jazz band to hit each beat in the song. It’s a good opener, giving almost every section the chance to shine in their own solo. The highlight of the song, however, is Yamaguchi, who absolutely <em>nails</em> his clarinet solo.</p><p>While “Sing, Sing, Sing” is a high-energy opener, the next two songs, “Adhesion” and “Takarajima”, dial back the band’s energy a little. They’re some of Takeda’s favorite pieces by Japanese composers. Since EJU’s jazz band is relatively new on campus, Takeda’s idea behind the setlist had been to strike a balance between classics and newer, Japanese jazz, starting out with a classic tune before they lean into some less mainstream pieces. Like “Sing, Sing, Sing”, each piece gives different parts of the band a chance to showcase their skills. Kageyama and Tsukishima get a neat trumpet-flute duet in “Adhesion”, and Kuroo and Aran each get a solo in “Takarajima”.</p><p>Although each section is showcased throughout the first half of the concert, no one shines brighter than Osamu, whose piano playing is featured in both “Takarajima” and the first half’s finale, “Take the ‘A’ Train”. The beginning of the latter tune gives the winds some time to catch their breath. As Kita plays a steady bassline and Sakusa keeps a light beat on the high-hats, Osamu introduces the main theme, his hands light on the piano. Rintarou almost forgets his nerves as he watches Osamu’s pixelated fingers dance over the keys. He makes performing look so <em>easy</em>.</p><p>When the whole band comes in, the saxophones mirror the tune of Osamu’s solo, fleshing it out further, as a brassy trumpet line layers on top. Next, the trumpets fade into the background alongside the saxophones and trombones; Atsumu smoothly inserts a mute into his trumpet for his solo, soaring above them. As his solo comes to a close, the entire band decrescendos into the final note, eventually fading into silence. They stay there, frozen for a moment, before Takeda lowers his hands. The crowd bursts into applause, and the first half of the concert comes to an end.</p><p>🎶</p><p>Sliding off the stool, Rintarou becomes intimately aware of the fact that he’s been sitting hunched over in front of the monitor for the past twenty-four minutes. <em>Ow,</em> his back. As he heads back to the green room, he shoots off a quick text to his group chat with Ginjima and Akagi: <em>is my camera ok</em></p><p><em>We’re enjoying the concert lots, thanks for asking,</em> Ginjima texts back. </p><p>Akagi adds, <em>the cameras fine dont worry abt it. when r u on????</em> A pause, just long enough for Rintarou to pick up Osamu saying, “Goin’ to the bathroom. Be right back.” His phone buzzes again. <em>oh gin just told me to - and i quote - “read the fuckin program”. anyway. break legs break hearts up there xoxo</em></p><p>“Actually, maybe don’t break any hearts up there,” says a familiar voice, right over his shoulder. Rintarou whips around to come face to face with Miya Atsumu.</p><p>“Does this look like the face of a heartbreaker to you?” he deadpans, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his slacks.</p><p>“It better not be.” Atsumu darts a glance to the side – looking for someone, maybe? – then drops his voice to a confidential tone. “Alright, Sunarin, listen. If ya don’t make a move on my brother I am going to lose my mind.”</p><p>“Huh?” says Rintarou, very eloquently.</p><p>“I <em>told</em> ya, way back at the start of the semester,” Atsumu says, his Kansai-ben thick with exasperation. “My dumbass brother’s been pinin’ after ya for <em>ages</em>, but he’s always goin’ on and on about how he doesn’t wanna <em>ruin your friendship </em>or whatever. <em>I </em>know that’s bullshit, because <em>I</em> have eyes. Every time he’s lookin at ya, you’re lookin’ right back.”</p><p>It’s been said before, but it must be noted again: If there’s a risk of throwing someone else’s performance off, Rintarou won’t air something out before a concert. Personal matters are important, but not more important than putting on a good show. He’s a professional.</p><p>Atsumu, apparently, does not share this same sense of professionalism. But he must sense Rintarou’s discomfort, because he backs off a little. “Listen, I don’t mean to psych ya out before ya perform or anything. But if ya don’t spontaneously combust onstage while you’re singing, I think it’d be worth talkin’ to Samu.” He slaps Suna on the back, then walks off – presumably to annoy Sakusa, as he usually does before every run of “Caravan”. As he goes, he tosses over his shoulder, “You’re gonna do great, Sunarin.”</p><p>Rintarou stands there for a second, so caught up in processing this information that he doesn’t even notice Osamu coming back in. </p><p>“Enjoying the show so far, Sunarin?” </p><p>Rintarou jumps. He takes a second to recover. “I mean, I’ve heard every song you’re playing. Multiple times.”</p><p>“Yeah, but ya know it always feels different when it’s an actual concert.” </p><p>Rintarou can’t argue with that. Over Osamu’s shoulder, Atsumu’s mouthing something. Rintarou’s no lip-reader, but given the previous conversation, it’s probably along the lines of <em>DO SOMETHING</em>. </p><p>Well. Tonight’s performances have been <em>particularly</em> good, even if he doesn’t have the same vantage point he usually does. It wouldn’t kill him to tell Osamu that. He takes a quick breath, and before he can lose his nerve, blurts out, “You were really good in ‘Take the A Train’ tonight.”</p><p>Osamu’s eyes widen, before his mouth curves into a small, surprised smile. “Aw, thanks, Sunarin. Not gonna lie, it felt weird performing without seein’ ya out in the audience takin’ videos of us.”</p><p>“My camera’s still out there taking videos of you,” Rintarou says dryly, “if that makes you feel any better.”</p><p>Osamu sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “What if I missed seeing your face, though?”</p><p>Rintarou’s brain stops working for a minute. </p><p>Osamu laughs nervously. “Uh, anyway. Just a couple more songs to go before you’re up.” He puts his hand on Rintarou’s shoulder <em>again</em>. He’s got to know what he’s doing at this point, right? There’s no <em>way </em>he doesn’t. Unaware of Rintarou’s internal turmoil, Osamu smiles at him and keeps going. “I’m not gonna tell ya you’re gonna be great or anything. I think ya might be sick of hearin’ it by now. But I just wanted to tell you – when you’re up onstage, if ya feel nervous, or ya get lost… just look at me, alright? I’ll cue ya in.”</p><p><em>Just look at you</em>, Rintarou thinks wretchedly. <em>Like I could ever look away.</em></p><p>🎶</p><p>“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Takeda says, as everyone takes their seats after intermission. “We hope you’ve enjoyed the first half of the show. For the second half, we’re going to take it down a little bit—”</p><p>That’s Sakusa’s cue. He bursts into motion, starting with a cymbal crash and building a driving rhythm. Although he’s pixelated on the monitor, it’s clear when he cues Kita in; Kita nods once, a sharp jerk of his head, and starts to pick out a jumping bassline. The synergy between them is <em>terrifying</em>. Takeda just grins widely at the audience, whips around, and raises his hands to cue in the rest of the band.</p><p>Watching <em>Whiplash</em> as a group, Rintarou thinks, really shaped the way the EJU Jazz Band performs “Caravan”. He distracts himself by imagining how he’d cut this performance video together, if he had more than one camera; maybe an overhead shot of Sakusa and the drumset here, a close-up of Kita’s hands on the bass there. Every member of the band channels some of the frenetic energy from the movie’s final scene, but no one more so than Sakusa, who fucking <em>owns</em> the drum solos. (From where he’s counting out his rests, Atsumu looks both furious and turned on at the same time. Rintarou decides he’s not gonna ask.) This particular arrangement of “Caravan” has a false ending that turns into a drum solo, starting up quiet but crescendoing louder and louder, faster and faster, until a solid chord from the winds blasts into the audience and the song comes to an end.</p><p>“Flute Juice”, the next song on the setlist, is purposely one that’s very light on drums, to give Sakusa a little time to recover. Tsukishima starts with a delicate-sounding flute solo, backed only by the piano and bass, that quickly grows to showcase his full technical ability. As the rest of the band comes in, they spend most of the song backing Tsukishima up, supporting him from below as his flute rings out above the sound of the band.</p><p>The last part of the song is one of Rintarou’s favorites, although he’s a little too nervous to enjoy it right now – the entire band plays a loud, brassy call, and Tsukishima will respond with a lofty flute line. Something about the way he plays just exudes that classic Tsukishima snark. Normally, Rintarou sits there, enjoying the interplay between Tsukishima and the rest of the band. Today, he slides off his stool, landing with a quiet thump on the floor. </p><p>Tsukishima hits a high note and holds it; the band plays its final notes, and the song comes to an end. On shaky legs, Rintarou walks into the wings, ready as he’ll ever be to perform.</p><p>🎶</p><p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, MUKAE HALL, AUDITORIUM - NIGHT</strong>
</p><p class="script">The EJU JAZZ BAND is arranged on the Mukae Hall stage, readying their sheet music for the next song. As usual, the RHYTHM SECTION is at stage left, and the WINDS are on stage right. In the center of the stage, TAKEDA turns around from the conductor’s stand and takes the microphone.</p><p class="script"><strong>TAKEDA</strong><br/>
Joining us for our next tune, “That Man”, please welcome to the stage Suna Rintarou!</p><p class="script">RINTAROU enters from stage right, looking slightly nervous. Enthusiastic applause comes from the audience, especially the CAMERAMEN.</p><p class="script"><strong>CAMERAMAN #1 </strong>(off-camera)<br/>
Let’s go, Suna!</p><p class="script"><strong>CAMERAMAN #2</strong> (off-camera)<br/>
Chorale represent!</p><p class="script">TAKEDA hands the microphone off to RINTAROU, who looks visibly nauseous now. In the front row, TSUKISHIMA and YAMAGUCHI look on with mild concern. </p><p class="script">OSAMU raps his fingers loudly on the top of the piano. Startled, RINTAROU turns to face OSAMU, who mouths something to him. The corner of RINTAROU’s mouth quirks up in a smile. He puts the microphone back on its stand, then turns back to TAKEDA and nods. TAKEDA raises his hands, cueing the band in.</p><p class="script">OSAMU plays a simple, looping melody that climbs up then rolls back down; as it repeats over and over, SAKUSA layers a light drumline on top, and ARAN supports it from the bottom with a bari sax line. After a couple more repetitions of this melody, a little flourish from OSAMU cues RINTAROU, who leans in close to the microphone and begins to croon.</p><p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU</strong><br/>
I’m in a little bit of trouble<br/>
And I’m in real deep… </p><p>🎶</p><p>Although the lyrics imply Rintarou’s in trouble, he’s doing okay for now. Despite his nerves, he <em>can</em> perform well when it comes down to it, so long as he just focuses on singing. “That Man” isn’t particularly complicated from a vocal perspective, after all, and the lyrics are relatively easy to remember. He makes it through the first verse and chorus all right, staring at a seat somewhere on the empty balcony, but then he makes the mistake of really <em>looking</em> into the audience. It’s not a full house, but there are six hundred people in the audience, maybe even <em>more</em>. That’s a <em>lot</em> of people who will notice if he fucks up.</p><p>There’s more than a little additional panic in his voice as he begins the run-up to the second chorus: <em>Someone call the doctor, I need some help to rescue me. </em>In his nervousness, he misses the start of the next line. Thankfully, it’s just Osamu, Sakusa, and Aran at this point; they can continue looping through the same melody, but Rintarou’s rattled enough that it takes him a measure to recollect himself. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement. Osamu’s still playing the piano just behind him, but he’s twisted himself to face Rintarou, not the keyboard. </p><p><em>Just look at me</em>, Osamu mouths, as his hands move over the keys.</p><p>Yanking his gaze away from the audience, Rintarou meets Osamu’s eyes. Osamu grins in response, and plays a little flourish, cueing the three instrumentalists to restart the run-up to the second chorus. </p><p><em>Someone call the doctor, I need some help to rescue me, </em>Rintarou croons, slowly relaxing into the lines, maintaining steady eye contact with Osamu. <em>One second I’m thinkin’ I must be lost, and he keeps on findin’ me… </em></p><p>🎶</p><p class="script">
  <strong>INT. EASTERN JAPAN UNIVERSITY, MUKAE HALL, AUDITORIUM - NIGHT</strong>
</p><p class="script">ENNOSHITA and RINTAROU are in the midst of trading off between improvised sax lines and sung lines. SAKUSA backs them up with a swing drumbeat, keeping a steady beat through the fills. The JAZZ BAND is clapping on the offbeats; the AUDIENCE is clapping along too, although they’re slightly off beat. </p><p class="script">After a few measures of this, the JAZZ BAND picks up their instruments. With a blast of trumpets, the rest of the band comes back in. RINTAROU scats over them, then leans in for the final chorus.</p><p class="script"><strong>RINTAROU</strong><br/>
Ooh, that man is on my list<br/>
And ooh, that man I wanna kiss<br/>
My only sin is I can’t win<br/>
Ooh, I wanna love that man</p><p class="script">The band begins a call-and-response section, bouncing back and forth between three high notes played by the upper winds and three low notes played by the lower winds. In the background, the piano, bass, and baritone sax maintain the same steady, looping melody over a swing beat.</p><p class="script">The winds fade out again, leaving the piano, bass, and drums alone. OSAMU plays one last lick, and the song comes to an end on an abrupt chord. </p><p class="script">Loud and enthusiastic applause from the audience. Off-camera, the CAMERAMEN are both whistling loudly. RINTAROU bows politely, but when he straightens up, he’s not looking at the audience at all; he’s looking at OSAMU. They exchange a smile before RINTAROU walks offstage.</p><p>🎶</p><p>As Rintarou’s walking back to his stool by the monitor, the first notes of “Game Changer”, the concert finale, catch him by surprise. “Game Changer” is a fun piece, another piece of Japanese jazz with a frenetic energy that’s oddly reminiscent of video game music. Caught up in his own post-performance adrenaline as he is, the song absolutely flies by; Rintarou misses both the saxophone solo and the trumpet solo, and only tunes back in as the band plays one loud final note. Silence hangs in the hall for a moment before Takeda lowers his hands. </p><p>He raises his hands again, gesturing the band to their feet, and the audience breaks into thunderous applause. Rintarou swears he can feel it vibrating through the floor, settling in his very bones. The backstage techs herd him into the wings, shoving him back onstage to take a final bow with the band. From the back, someone whistles loudly. Standing there with the jazz band, a grin slowly spreading across his face, Rintarou thinks once again that there’s nothing quite like the feeling of a performance well done.</p><p>Eventually, the applause peters out, and the audience and the jazz band both start gathering up their things. The concert is over; there’s no need to worry about throwing anyone’s performance off. Atsumu’s words echo in his brain: <em>I think it’d be worth talkin’ to Samu.</em> </p><p>Maybe it’s time.</p><p>As he’s walking offstage, he pauses by the piano. “Hey, Osamu. Can I talk to you backstage?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” says Osamu. He pushes in his piano bench, then grabs his folder of sheet music and leads Rintarou offstage. They come to a stop in a little alcove in the wings, just out of view of the audience. “What’s up, Sunarin?”</p><p>“I, uh—” Rintarou starts very eloquently. Oh, this is going well. “I wanted to say thank you for earlier. You really saved my ass up there.” Okay. Okay, he can do this. “I owe you one. Let me make it up to you. I’ll treat you to dinner.”</p><p>Osamu looks, briefly, like he’s been punched in the gut. He recovers in a second, saying with a nervous smile, “C’mon, Sunarin, it was nothing. You’re not the first person who’s frozen up during a solo. Hell, Tsumu does it all the time, and <em>he</em> never takes me to dinner.”</p><p>“Dinner like in a <em>romantic </em>sense, oh my god, I’m trying to ask you out,” Rintarou says in a rush. “Listen, there are lots more things I want to thank you for. You always make sure I feel included even though I’m a choir kid hanging out with a bunch of band kids. You make me food all the time. You came to my concert last night, even though it’s dead week and I <em>know</em> you have a final on Monday. Also, you look <em>really</em> good with your sleeves rolled up like that—god, why am I still talking? Just, like, say no or something so I can stop embarrassing myself like this—” </p><p>Osamu’s hand comes up to cradle Rintarou’s jaw, and he carefully pushes their mouths together.</p><p>Rintarou doesn’t have a whole lot of recent experience to compare this to. But kissing Osamu, after all this time, is kind of like the feeling of <em>finally</em> getting to sing after you’ve been counting out measures and measures of rest. (As a tenor, Rintarou knows this feeling very well.) </p><p>“Fuckin’ <em>finally</em>,” someone hollers behind them, making them jump apart. Rintarou doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Atsumu. “Congratulations. Swear to god, I thought I was gonna die before the two of ya opened your eyes. Now get a fuckin’ room!”</p><p>Osamu extends his middle finger to his brother, and leans in to kiss Rintarou again. Presumably, this kiss is mostly to spite Atsumu, but Rintarou won’t complain. Atsumu makes a gagging noise and stomps off to the green room, and the two of them break apart, resting their foreheads against each other and laughing. </p><p>“Well, since ya thoroughly embarrassed yourself, it’s only fair that I do too,” Osamu says after a moment, pulling back to look Rintarou in the eye. “I’ve really enjoyed gettin’ to know ya this year, Sunarin. Even if we only met for the first time back in April, it feels like I’ve known ya forever. No one else can really team up with me against Tsumu like ya do.” At this, Rintarou laughs. Empowered, Osamu keeps going.</p><p>“Ya fit in with us so well. I meant what I told ya – you’re basically one of us at this point. And…” Osamu’s flushing a pretty shade of red as he says this, but he powers forward anyway. “I talked to ya about how I saw ya at Showcase last spring, right? Well, your performance was <em>really</em> good, and I thought ya were pretty handsome to boot. I—” He flushes an even brighter red, and quickly blurts out, “I <em>might </em>have had a crush on you since then.” </p><p>“Yeah.” Rintarou has to suppress a grin. “Your brother told me.”</p><p>Osamu’s jaw drops. His mouth works soundlessly for a minute, attempting to form words, before his brain comes back online. “I’m gonna fuckin' kill him.”</p><p>“Let’s put off the murder until later, okay?” Interlacing his fingers with Osamu’s, Rintarou feels a little thrilled that finally, he gets to know how these hands feel in his. “I still owe you dinner. Having your brother’s blood on your hands might kill the mood, just a bit.”</p><p>“Ya have a good point, Sunarin.” Osamu lets Rintarou lead him by the hand out into the lobby. “How about after dinner, though?”</p><p>Rintarou grins, pushing the lobby doors open and pulling Osamu out into the warm evening air. “Let’s just see where the night takes us.”</p><p>Osamu grins back. “Improvising as we go? Wow, we really made a jazz musician out of ya.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and on that note (aha ha), jazzfic comes to an end. (i AM thinking of a sakuatsu sidestory, perhaps for sakusa’s birthday – which, coincidentally is also my birthday! but i make no promises.) thank you for sticking around until the end, friendos! if you liked this, tell your friends about it by retweeting <a href="https://twitter.com/tadhanastar/status/1355334292801347585">the promo tweet</a>, or tell me about your fav part in the comments :’)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this fic updates on fridays!</p>
<p>come yell with me about sunaosa on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/tadhanastar">@tadhanastar</a>! if you liked this fic you can tell your friends about it by rting the <a href="https://twitter.com/tadhanastar/status/1355334292801347585?s=20">promo tweet</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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